


Until the End of Time

by kyrdwyn



Series: The Colors of Our Souls are Painted on Our Skins [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, M/M, Soul Bond, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-12 16:30:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2116845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrdwyn/pseuds/kyrdwyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Trèville would have frowned on you fighting on your first day," Aramis replied.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Porthos and Aramis, and the ghosts of Savoy that haunt them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Five Years Ago

**Author's Note:**

> So, when I thought about doing a story in this 'verse for 1.04 "The Good Soldier", Porthos and Aramis decided to be a lot chattier than Athos and d'Artagnan, for obvious reasons. I will be going back to their story for this ep as well, since I'm playing havoc with canon.
> 
> Written hurriedly, not sure I'm entirely happy with it, but wanted to get it out there.

Porthos didn't blink as another man slipped into formation next to him. Captain Trèville looked over, nodded, and went back to dressing down one of the other new recruits. The man had shown up without weaponry, apparently the victim of a prank by the members of his former regiment. The captain was not impressed. Porthos couldn't blame him. After the loss of twenty-one Musketeers at Savoy, a lot of new commissions had gone out, including Porthos'. As Musketeers, they were supposed to be the best of the best, so to speak, the King's own, guarding the royal family. A Musketeer without his sword was useless. 

At least his former regiment had given Porthos a decent send off - if a bit heavy on alcohol. Porthos had woken up the next morning barely able to remember his own name, but no one had taken his sword or pistol.

"Porthos," Captain Trèville said, cutting into his memories, "I want you to pair with Aramis. Aramis," he said to the man next to Porthos, the one who had gotten to formation late, "show Porthos how we do things in the Musketeers. Keep him out of trouble on his first day."

"Yes, sir." 

Trèville dismissed them after a few minutes. Porthos turned to the man next to him. Dark haired, mustache and neatly trimmed goatee, he looked like a Spaniard. He was looking into the distance, not saying anything. Porthos held out a hand. "Porthos du Vallon," he said.

That seemed to snap Aramis out of his head. "Aramis," he said, reaching out and taking Porthos' hand.

The instant their hands touched, a rush of warmth flew up Porthos' arm, and his soul mark tingled where it was hidden under his pauldron on his right arm. Aramis' eyes had gone wide at the touch, and he looked up at Porthos. "That . . . "

"Yeah," Porthos said, reluctantly letting go of Aramis' hand. "Yeah, I think that was." The meeting of soul mates, two people destined by God to be the halves of one soul. Sometimes a deep friendship, sometimes a passionate love affair, but always something that lasted for the rest of their lives. And Aramis, his fellow Musketeer, was his soul mate. Catching something sad in Aramis' expression as the man looked away, Porthos felt the urge to drag him out of the garrison and hold onto him until the sad look went away. "Anyway, you'd better show me around," Porthos suggested instead. "Don't want to be caught disobeying the captain's orders on my first day," he added.

Aramis looked up at him, then nodded. "Good point. Otherwise, he'll chew you out like that other unfortunate soul. What did he do to annoy Trèville?"

"Arrived without his sword or main gauche. Prank by his former regiment. I doubt Phillipe will let it happen again."

"He better not," was all Aramis said as he led Porthos toward the inner areas of the garrison. "Trèville will put up with a lot from us, but something that could endanger each other or the royal family? He won't stand for that."

They spent the rest of the day getting Porthos familiar with a routine of the regiment, the weapons they used (other than his own), and even sparring together, before Aramis begged off dinner, saying he had a prior engagement, but that he'd be back later.

During dinner, Captain Trèville sent for Porthos, causing him to get all sorts of looks from the other new recruits. Hat in hand, Porthos ignored them all and went to the captain's office. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yes. I wanted to ask how Aramis seemed to you."

Porthos blinked. "I'm not sure I understand, sir."

Trèville eyed him. "I know it is your first day, but did Aramis seem fit for active duty?"

Frowning, Porthos nodded. "Yes, sir, he did." Granted, Aramis had moments during the day where his mind was somewhere else, but Porthos had chalked that up to the soul bond they had yet to talk about.

The captain looked down at his desk for a long moment, then sighed. "I have no right to ask you this, considering it is your first day, but since you and Aramis seem to be getting along, I'd like you to work with him as much as possible." Trèville looked up. "You heard about the massacre at Savoy." 

It wasn't a question, but Porthos answered it anyway. "Twenty dead Musketeers, one deserter, one survivor. Spanish raid."

Trèville nodded, a bit of guilt his eyes. "Aramis is the sole survivor. He's recovered from his physical wounds but the mind can be harder to heal. To be honest, I didn't expect to see him in formation today. I'd been giving him time, but by the end of the week, I was going to have to start insisting. Still, the fact that he seems all right with you, well, I'd like to keep that going. I know it's a lot to put on a new recruit, but he hasn't responded well to any of the older members of the regiment."

Something clenched in Porthos' chest at the thought of Aramis left among the bodies of his fellow Musketeers, thinking that rescue would not be coming. And the thought that his soul mate could have died there in Savoy, before he and Porthos ever had a chance to meet. "I'm honored you trust me with the responsibility, sir." 

"If you can't handle it, I expect you to tell me right away," Trèville ordered.

"Understood, sir." He wouldn't be leaving his soul mate alone, though. Not even if Trèville ordered him to.

"Good, dismissed."

Porthos nodded and left the office just as another man was about to knock on the door. One of the other new recruits, one Porthos hadn't spoken with. He nodded at Porthos, who nodded back as Trèville called out from inside. "Athos, come in."

Porthos put the other man out of his mind as he jogged down the stairs and left the garrison, looking for his soul mate. 

They needed to talk.

* * *

"How did you find me?"

"Wasn't hard, you told me where you were lodging."

Aramis ran a hand through his hair, stepping back from the door to his quarters. "Come on in then," he said. "I'm guessing you want to talk about this." He moved his shirt to one side, revealing a black outline cross over his heart, filled in with blues and greens and purples. 

"Yeah. I think we should," Porthos said, stepping into the room. "Mine's on my shoulder," he said absently. "Not as easy to show."

"Not unless you take your shirt off. And that's not an invitation," Aramis said. "Sorry to say, I don't feel that pull toward you."

Porthos shrugged. "Don't be sorry, it is whatever God intended it to be, brothers or lovers or a bit of both."

"God intended for me to be the only Musketeer to return from Savoy, twenty of my brothers dead and the only other survivor abandoned me with their bodies, just to find my soul mate?" Aramis asked bitterly under his breath, fists clenched.

"No," Porthos said slowly, putting a gentle hand on Aramis' shoulder, "no, I don't believe that at all. You survived for a reason, yeah, but not because of me. More likely, I was sent to help you."

"Help me do what, figure out why I alone came back from Savoy?"

"Yeah, maybe."

"So why did I?" Aramis held his gaze, challenging him.

"I don't know," Porthos said. "But I'm willing to help you find out, Aramis."

The other man seemed to deflate. "Why did Marsac save me? Why did he leave me there?" he whispered.

Porthos pulled his soul mate into an embrace, feeling the other man clutch at Porthos' jacket. Walking them toward the bed, he sat down with Aramis, letting the other man lean into him and shake, but no tears fell.

He made a promise to himself, then and there, that he would do everything he could to protect his soul mate from the ghosts of Savoy. And if he got the chance to put a bullet into this Marsac, well, he would, if Aramis couldn't on his own. 

If he could, then Porthos would stand by his side as he got closure. It's what soul mates did for each other.


	2. Five Years Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years as soul mates and Aramis could read him as well as Porthos could read Aramis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during 1.04 "The Good Soldier"

Porthos exchanged a glance with Athos. It was clear their soul mates were hiding something. D'Artagnan had no more slipped on the grass than Porthos had.

"If you don't tell them I will," d'Artagnan said to Aramis, clearly wanting the other man to come clean first. 

Aramis sighed. "Not here," he said. "Bonacieux's."

Porthos let Aramis take the lead, Athos and d'Artagnan falling behind. He watched his soul mate, disturbed by the man's actions. This wasn't his Aramis, this was the man he'd met after Savoy. The difference was subtle, but he could tell.

Discovering Marsac, alive and at Bonacieux's, well, that explained a lot. As Athos and d'Artagnan tried to calm down Madame Bonacieux, who was rightfully angry at her former lodger bringing a wanted deserter into her house, Porthos pulled Athos aside. "What are you doing?"

"He says he knows why we were ambushed, and by who."

"Aramis."

"Porthos, I need to know. Why my brothers died, why I lived, anything to make sense of what happened five years ago. Marsac has information."

"And what if this information gets you killed, him? What then?" _What do I do then?_ , he didn't ask. He didn't have to - five years as soul mates and Aramis could read him as well as Porthos could read Aramis.

Pulling Porthos into a corner out of sight of the group in the kitchen, Aramis leaned his head against Porthos', one hand coming up to rest on Porthos' pauldron, above his soul mark. "You once promised that you'd help me find out, mon frère. This could be my only chance."

"I know," Porthos said, "and I will. Just, you're not alone in this, all right? Athos and d'Artagnan are with you on this, hell, you got the kid to keep a secret from his soul mate, and I didn't think he'd ever do that." That earned a chuckle from Aramis. "And you have me, until the end of time and all that foolishness, as Athos used to call it. You don't have to do this on your own."

Aramis looked up and nodded. "I know. I promise I will make this up to you," he said. 

"You'd better, or I'll let Athos have you for corrupting his soul mate," Porthos threatened with a smile.

"You are a cruel man, mon frère."

"Yeah, but I'm yours at least."

Aramis leaned up and pressed a chaste kiss to Porthos' lips. "Until the end of time."

* * *

"He went after Trèville," Aramis said as he felt Porthos approach him. He'd always known when Porthos was near, since that first night when he hadn't quite cried in Porthos' arms, but Porthos hadn't let him go, hadn't left him alone. He didn't know if Porthos felt it when Aramis was near, but he'd also never felt the need to ask.

"I heard," Porthos said now, coming to stand beside Aramis at Marsac's grave.

"Trèville was acting on the orders of the king," Aramis said, not willing to elaborate, but knowing Porthos would understand.

"A good soldier doesn't question his orders, not from the king," Porthos said with a nod.

"I told Trèville that Marsac died in that forest, it just took his body five years to catch up to it." He took a breath, looking over at his soul mate. "I feel like it's taken my mind five years to catch up to the fact that I survived." He looked away. "I'm still not sure why."

Porthos reached out and put his hand over Aramis' soul mark, over his heart. "I can think of a lot of reasons why you survived, and a lot of people that are alive because you did. Trèville, for one. Me, Athos, d'Artagnan, a lot of our fellow Musketeers, the Queen - we're all alive because you were there to protect us, to patch us up. Maybe that's why you survived. To help others, so we can help you."

Aramis looked up at him with a small smile. "I know you could have survived if we hadn't met, but I am glad that I did survive so we would meet. We may not be the type of soul mates Athos and d'Artagnan are, but I wouldn't change a thing about my soul mate."

"I wouldn't either," Porthos admitted. "Not even you getting us caught by Trèville that one time."

"Now that was your fault, my friend," Aramis said as he started walking back to the garrison.

"You were the one who said he wasn't in the garrison," Porthos protested, falling into step next to Aramis.

"And he wasn't, but you were supposed to be keeping an eye on the main entrance."

"I'd like to see you keep watch while . . ." As Porthos continued detailing their escapades that night, Aramis took a quick glance back, saying a silent goodbye to Marsac, to his past, before turning to continue on into his future with his soul mate at his side.


End file.
